Chapter 15 #2
After Mr. Rawlings handed us down, Helen took my arm and pulled me ahead. “Come,” she said, inclining her head. “Let us really talk now that Alexander cannot hear.”
I laughed, even if my insides squirmed at her attention. “A kindness, I am sure. My endless talking is driving him quite mad.”
“Mad indeed,” she said under her breath.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing.” She gave a bright smile. “How are you getting on with Aunt Ruth? She does like to make life difficult, does she not?”
I hardly knew what to say to that. I was supposed to be Mrs. Rawlings’s companion; if I spoke ill of her, it would not reflect very well on my character. “She is coming around,” I said carefully. “I think.”
She laughed. “You are too kind, Miss Albright. I know precisely what my aunt is like, though I love her dearly.”
“Please,” I said, “call me Beatrice.” It would make me feel just a little less deceitful if she called me by my real name.
“And you must call me Helen,” she insisted.
I glanced behind me as we entered the front doors. Mr. Rawlings followed us, looking as if he were about to enter a boxing ring instead of a ballroom.
The large room bustled with ladies and gentlemen all in their finest—silks and white gloves and pearls and feathers aplenty. The energy of the space swept me away, reminding me in a small way of London. How I missed it. But this would have to do in the meantime.
“Should you like to make the rounds with us?” Helen asked Mr. Rawlings.
“Not in the least,” he said and disappeared into the crowd.
I blinked after him. That had been rather abrupt.
“Come along, my dear Beatrice,” Helen said, tugging on my arm. “You are about to become very popular.”
She took me around the room, introducing me to all her friends and all her friends’ friends, it seemed.
If anyone was popular, it was most certainly Helen.
But that was hardly surprising. She was as friendly and charming as anyone I’d ever met.
I curtsied and smiled and made polite conversation, and though it was a bit overwhelming, I was heartily enjoying myself.
No one here sent me dark, sidelong glances or whispered behind their fans as I passed.
What a relief it was to hide behind my false name.
A tremor of unease passed through me. I hadn’t moved so easily in Society since before I’d crossed Clarissa Haythorne.
What would it be like when I finally returned to London?
If her note was anything to judge by, she was not sitting idly by during my “illness.” I had little doubt she was fanning the flames of those rumors anew, discrediting me and ruining me all over again.
I caught a glimpse or two of Mr. Rawlings as we made our way around the room, but he did not approach, only prowled about the edge of the dance floor like a brooding wolf.
Had he noticed Helen’s look of curiosity in the carriage and decided to again distance the two of us?
If so, it was probably for the best. But it did nothing to help the jolt in my stomach every time our eyes met through the crowd.
“Mrs. Goodall, how are you, my dear?” Helen exclaimed, greeting a middle-aged woman.
“Oh, very well indeed.” Mrs. Goodall smiled pleasantly at me. “And who is this?”
Helen laid one hand on my arm. “Mrs. Goodall, may I present Miss Beatrice Albright, lately of London.”
“So pleased to meet you, Mrs. Goodall.” I offered a curtsy. Heavens, my knees would give out if we kept this up much longer.
“Likewise!” Mrs. Goodall exchanged a knowing glance with Helen. “What good fortune. My son is just nearby.” She waved to a young gentleman a few feet away. “Francis!”
The man came to join us, friendly looking, with bright-red hair and a broad smile—a smile that only broadened upon spotting me. I had a feeling he had already been watching us before his mother had called him over.
“Miss Albright, might I introduce my son, Francis Goodall?” Mrs. Goodall said with obvious pride.
“A pleasure.” Mr. Goodall bowed.
I curtsied again, and at that moment, the orchestra began playing, and the first dance was called.
“Might I have the honor of this set, Miss Albright?” Mr. Goodall asked, holding out one hand.
“You may.” I was certain my cheeks were pink from pleasure. I truly could not remember the last time someone had asked me to dance.
Mr. Goodall led me to the line of dancers, and I did not think I was mistaken that there were several—or possibly dozens—of eyes on me. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. It was just a dance.
“How are you finding Camberwell, Miss Albright?” Mr. Goodall asked as the dance began, and we moved toward one another.
“I haven’t seen much of the town, I’m afraid.” I took his hand, and he led me around our partners in a circle. “I’m kept quite busy at Briarstone.”
I was trying to do just as Mr. Rawlings had instructed: keep to the truth as much as possible.
“You are Mrs. Rawlings’s companion, is that right?” He sent me a curious glance.
“Yes,” I said brightly. Wishing to avoid any further questions in that direction, I asked him, “Tell me about yourself, Mr. Goodall. Your mother seems lovely indeed. Do you have any other family?”
We continued our conversation through the entirety of a Scotch reel and then a quadrille. I was careful to always direct the topic back to him, smiling and giving him all my attention. That was my aim tonight: I would be pleasant and lively, but I would try my hardest not to be interesting.
When he led me back to Helen, she had another gentleman at her side, a Mr. Rogers, who seemed rather eager for an introduction and a dance.
Again, I dodged questions and directed plenty at him in turn.
But in between our exchanges, I allowed myself to get lost in the music, in the rhythm of the steps, and in the smiles of my partner.
How wonderful this was, to clap and bounce and simply enjoy myself.
The next two hours were a delightful blur.
Helen provided no shortage of partners, and at one point, there were at least three gentlemen waiting to meet me when I returned after a dance.
I knew it was an anomaly—I was something bright and new in a small-town society—but dash it all if I didn’t take an immense amount of pleasure from the apparent demand for my hand.
“I do love being right,” Helen said with a grin after my sixth partner—or was it my seventh?—returned me to her side. “You have made quite the impression, my dear.”
I waved her off. “It shall fade soon enough. But I cannot deny that I am having a wonderful time. The last few days have been so very—” I stopped myself just in time. I was about to say trying.
“So very what?” She took my arm and stepped closer so we would not be overheard.
“So very different from what I am accustomed to,” I managed. “It has been an adjustment, that is all.”
Helen nodded sympathetically. “I am sure.”
She looked as if she might press me, so I cleared my throat. “I haven’t seen Mr. Rawlings lately. He hasn’t abandoned us, has he?”
“I would not be surprised if he has,” she said, allowing me my retreat. “But no, he is still here somewhere, lurking about and doing his best to avoid the legions of women intent on becoming the new Mrs. Rawlings.”
I could hardly blame them. He was ridiculously rich, broodingly handsome, and mysterious besides. Women were not born to withstand such a confluence of attractive attributes.
“Well, I think he’s being rather silly,” I said. “What harm could it do to dance a few sets? It’s only polite.”
“Oh, he is convinced it could do a great deal of harm,” Helen replied. “He has no desire to form any more ties to this place than necessary.”
I tipped my head. “Why is that? One would think he’d be eager to find a wife and secure an heir for Briarstone.”
Helen shook her head. “One might think that,” she said, “if one did not know Alexander. But Briarstone holds no happy memories for him. I am surprised he has stayed as long as he has.”
“No happy memories?” A thought connected in my mind. “Is that why he and Mrs. Rawlings removed to Scotland?”
Helen suddenly straightened. “I am sorry,” she said. “I think I’ve said too much.”
“Oh,” I said, taken aback. “I apologize. I did not mean to pry.”
Her face softened. “I know. It is simply not my story to tell.” She looked away, carefully shifting her expression back to neutral territory. “Look, here comes another hopeful for you,” she said, nodding toward an approaching gentleman.
I’d barely caught my breath from the last dance. “Waylay him a moment for me?” I begged. “I only need a drink.”
“I am sure he would be happy to fetch you one,” she called after me as I started for the table of lemonade.
I slipped through the crowd, my steps quick, and was just nearing the table when a hand gripped my elbow.
“A word, Miss Albright.” Mr. Rawlings’s deep brogue sounded in my ear.